25. Adrian
ADRIAN
I n all my years on this planet, I’ve never had anyone so publicly declare their intentions to me.
For me.
“Good luck to both of you.” Kyle’s voice is a whisper, his smile kind as he squeezes my hand and weaves his way through the bar. When did he get up?
When did I get up? Hadn’t I just been sitting in the booth?
Guilt sloshes over me at the way I’d been so spellbound by Jesse on stage—that I’d been out with someone else and unable to take my eyes off the man who walked out of my apartment last night without a second thought.
As he exits the stage, I watch Jesse’s gaze follow Kyle toward the door while I stand frozen next to our booth and our half-finished beers. He waits a beat and then another, like he’s making sure Kyle is well and truly gone before his eyes snap to mine.
Wow.
Like the ocean parting, Jesse moves effortlessly through the crowd, a confidence in his stride that has my knees a little weak.
I don’t dare go to him. I don’t even try because I need this.
I need Jesse to show me that tonight wasn’t just a stunt to get things to go back the way they were.
Because I can’t go back.
I won’t.
I want labels and dates and time spent with his family and vacations and holidays.
I want it all.
Throat dry, I open my mouth, determined to force out the words, but I don’t get the chance. Because the last step Jesse takes has his hands cupping my face and his lips devouring mine.
It’s all I can do to hold on, my hands gripping his forearms as he’s pushing his tongue into my mouth, his body pressing impossibly closer until there’s no space between us. Cheers go up around us, but I’m not sure if it’s for us or the person on stage.
And it doesn’t matter.
Because Jesse isn’t just claiming me in the middle of this bar, he’s imprinting himself on me, rewriting my DNA, and making me feel like I’ll never quite remember my life before him.
“Fuck,” Jesse rasps, his forehead falling to mine, his chest heaving and his body trembling slightly all over as he holds me.
“You sang for me.”
“If you want an encore you’re gonna have to wait till we’re home.”
“You think one song is going to fix you walking out?”
Pulling back, he searches my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “I know I have work to do.” With a grin, he adds, “I’m oddly excited about that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Sliding one hand to the back of my neck, the other settles on the small of my back, the position no less possessive than before. “No one’s ever cared if I didn’t—there was no expectation of more and that was fine.”
“What changed?”
“You,” he says, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead before pulling back again.
“You were always different, and it scared the hell out of me that you never fit neatly into the box of detachment I created. I never wanted anything to have me in a choke hold, especially a relationship. But it never felt like that with you, and I was too stubborn to see it.”
God, how I want to believe him.
“But why now? You were so ready to let me go last night— literally said we’d talk about my date. Like friends.”
“I wasn’t at my best and I freaked out. I’m not proud of it. But I’d told you time and time again that it was always the plan. I’d never had to deviate before—never had a reason.”
“And you’re all in? Just like that?”
“Let me take you home, Adrian.” His fingers skillfully knead the muscles in my neck. “We’ll go at your pace. You want me to grovel for the next six months? Done. You want to move in together? I’ll have my shit packed up and ready before sunrise.”
I snort, my lips tilting up on one side. “And what if I want a lazy day in bed?”
“Whatever you want, I want.”
“You’re sure? Like really sure?”
“Yes. But I won’t tell you here. Not when I have an audience.”
“All right,” I say with a level of conviction I don’t totally feel, “let’s go home.”